A Scandalous Pursuit Page 23
“Alex! How can you say that?” How could he think that after the nights they’d spent together? After the sweet words whispered in her ear? Livvie gaped at him.
“It’s the truth, sweetheart. Had James MacFadyn not seen you exit my room, you would be waiting for Philip Moore’s return this very moment. I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you.”
“I’m not!” Livvie stomped her foot to emphasize the point.
Alex couldn’t stand there any longer, looking at her, knowing that she would never truly be his. That though she was his wife and he loved her more than life itself, her heart would always belong to Major Moore, damn his eyes. Alex turned his back on her and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” she demanded, chasing after him into the corridor.
“Wherever the bloody hell I want to,” he snarled in return.
Olivia grabbed his arm and he snatched it back from her, stalking purposefully towards the main entryway. When Gibson saw the determined look on his face, the butler quickly opened the front door.
Standing there on the front porch was an army major. Tall, with dark, scathing eyes, and a set chin. Alex stopped in his tracks.
“Kelfield!” the man spat at him.
Olivia gasp behind him, and as he turned to look at her, the officer’s fist met with Alex’s eye and he fell to the ground.
“Philip!” Olivia wailed as she dropped to her knees beside Alex.
Philip? Dear God! Alex pushed Olivia away from him and scrambled back to his feet. His eye was burning miserably, but he wouldn’t give Philip Moore the pleasure of seeing him in pain. “You’re the noble major that my wife adores? Hitting a man unaware? Not very sporting of you, Moore.”
“I’ve come to demand satisfaction from you, Kelfield,” the major hissed with a murderous look in his dark eyes.
“Philip, no!” Olivia cried from behind them. “Don’t do this. Please.”
Alex looked back at her, his wife whom he loved but who loved another. “Worried he’ll make you a widow, Olivia?
Panic flashed in her hazel eyes and she threw her arms around his middle. “Please, Alex.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m sure he’s a better shot than I am. Then your hopes and dreams can be returned to you.”
“You are my hopes and dreams, you stubborn man.”
Alex pulled out of her grasp and faced Moore again. “I accept your challenge, Major.”
Olivia whimpered behind him, but Alex focused his attention on the officer.
Weapon?” Moore asked.
Alex reassessed the major’s murderous glare. One shot from a pistol from a man who was proficient with the weapon was suicide, and not terribly sporting. If Moore was intent on killing him, Alex was going to make him work for it. “Swords.”
The response did not affect the major in the least. “Name your second.”
“The Marquess of Haversham. Yours?”
A strange look crossed the major’s face, but it was soon gone. “Captain Russell Avery.”
Alex couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll send Haversham over to Avery House to work out the details, if that bitch Gladys Avery will let him in her house.” Then he pushed past the major, descended the steps, and stalked off down Park Lane.
Olivia gaped after Alex’s departing form and the room started to spin again. Before she fell to the floor, Philip caught her in his arms. “Dear God, Livvie, how did this happen to you?”
He deserved answers, but Livvie couldn’t give him any at the moment. Her own life was in too much disarray. She pulled out of his arms and tears streamed down her face. “Philip, please,” she begged. “Withdraw your challenge.”
“I cannot,” he stated firmly, frowning at her. “The man has dishonored you. I will not let that go unanswered.”
“He has not,” she said, swiping at her tears. Her cheeks ached, red and stinging from all her crying last night and this morning. “Philip, he is my husband. Do not do this in my name, I beg you.”
“Olivia, you cannot care for that man.” The incredulous tone in his voice sobered Livvie.
She tipped her chin in the air. “Of course I do. He’s my husband.” When he winced at her words, she softened her voice, “I am so very sorry for hurting you. That was never my intent. I pray you believe me.”
“You would never hurt anyone willingly.”
“But I have done so, and for that I am truly sorry. I know it must be difficult to come to terms with, but I am the Duchess of Kelfield and I do love my husband. So if you ever loved me, Philip, please withdraw your challenge.”
Philip stared at her for the longest time. In his proud frame, Livvie could see the silly boy she grew up with, the young man who had fascinated her, the stoic soldier who was a hero, the man she always knew she would marry. Part of her would always love Philip, but he was her past. Her future was Alex. Her entire heart belonged to her arrogant duke, who didn’t even seem to believe her love was real.
Finally, Philip shook his head. “He took you from me. He took my life. I got through the war, through each battle, because I knew I was coming home to you—my love, my heart, my soul. I will not give him my honor as well. It’s all I have left.”
“Your Grace,” Doctor Watts began, sitting at Livvie’s bedside, “you are with child.”
Livvie’s mouth fell open, a flood of emotions swamping her. Surprise that it was true. Elation that she was to be a mother. Terror that her husband could soon foolishly die on the field of honor. Happiness that she could give Alex an heir. Fear of the unknown.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“It is early in your term,” the doctor continued, “but I am unhappy with what I see, Your Grace. You look as if you’ve been through quite the ordeal. I would never presume to guess at what goes on in another’s home, but I am concerned about your health. You have dark circles under your eyes, your maid says you haven’t eaten at all today, and I’ve never heard a heartbeat as rapid as yours on a healthy woman.”
Livvie shook her head. It was just the tension of the day. Alex’s anger! Philip’s return! A duel, for heaven’s sakes! “Doctor, this child is most important to me, more so than my own life. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Stay in bed. Eat. Don’t get yourself all worked up. Remain calm.”
Easier said than done. But she would do it for the child. Livvie nodded her head. “Of course, Doctor Watts. Thank you.”
Ever since Cordie had gotten wind of the duel, she was determined to fix the problem. Men were so ridiculous with these sorts of things. Having endured three brothers her entire life, she was well aware of that fact. Women, by far, had cooler heads. So it was up to her to make things right.
She found Russell sitting in the library, reading and drinking some brandy. Perfect. Her middle brother was always the easiest to manipulate when he was drinking. She flopped down in an over-stuffed leather chair across from Russell.
He looked up at her and raised his brow. “You want something.”
“I do not.” She feigned innocence.
Russell grinned at her. “I’ve not been gone all that long, Cordelia. When you want something, your nose scrunches up just a bit.”
Blast her brother for knowing her as well as she knew him. Not that she was going to let that deter her. “Russ, about—”
He roared with laughter. “Russ? You only call me that if you’ve exhausted all other options. What is it, Cordie?”
“Very well,” she said, sitting forward in her chair, dispensing all pretense and cutting to the chase. “This duel between Kelfield and Philip. It’s to be swords?”
“How do you know that?” he asked, narrowing his green eyes on her.
“Tristan.”
Russell sat back in his chair with a, “Humpf.”
“So it’s to be swords. Will it be first blood or to the death?”
“Haversham hasn’t shown up to discuss the terms. And,” he said, pinning her wit
h his gaze, “no, you won’t see him while he’s here.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Russell, the marquess is the last thing on my mind at the moment.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Olivia loves her husband. You would only have to see them together to know that. Please make it First Blood. It would destroy Livvie if Kelfield died. Injured, she could live with.”
“This is not something that concerns women, Cordie.”
She frowned at her brother. “Spoken like a pompous man.”
He chuckled. “Tristan should be shot for even telling you in the first place.”
“Well, I suppose since you’re all intent on killing each other, he can be next on the list.” Then she touched her brother’s leg. “Please. Livvie is my dearest friend, Russell. I don’t want to see her hurt. If either of them died, she would be devastated. You grew up with her, same as me. I know you don’t want that.”
Russell sighed. “I’ll agree to it if Haversham will. But if you tell anyone that you talked me into this, I’ll deny it and put snakes in your bed again.”
Cordie’s mouth fell open. “That was you?” Then she smacked him. “Russell Avery! On more than one occasion you and Gregory both told me that Tristan was the culprit. I threw a rock at his head.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You always had awful aim.”
He could laugh at her if he wanted to. One down, one to go. She kissed Russell’s cheek, then excused herself and made a beeline to the front parlor so she had a good view of South Audley Street. The Marquess of Haversham wouldn’t get past her.
Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long. Only one man walked with the strong, purposeful gait of Marcus Gray. Cordie’s heart flipped in her chest. She raced out of the parlor and reached the door before Sanders could do so. The butler eyed her with displeasure.
Cordie tipped her nose haughtily. “Sanders, I know it was you who pilfered Lord Avery’s best whiskey.” She’d held that information forever, knowing it would come in handy at some point.
The old man’s face went white at the revelation. “Miss Cordelia!”
“I’ll never say a word, Sanders, if you turn your back for five minutes.” There she doubted Caroline Staveley could have done it any better herself.
“Five minutes, miss.” Then Sanders ducked around the corner.
She could have kissed him. Instead, she wrenched the door open and smiled at Haversham. “My lord, we meet again.”
A seductive grin spread across his handsome face. “Butler duties? What other talents are you hiding, Miss Avery?”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. Haversham stumbled and pulled her against his strong body. “Not here,” she whispered, pulling out of his grasp and tugging him towards the front parlor.
Once inside, Haversham shut the door behind them and pulled her back into his arms. His warm, sensuous mouth covered hers and Cordie had to struggle to maintain her senses. She pushed at his muscled chest and staggered backwards. “My lord, I need to speak with you.”
“I much prefer what we were just doing,” he replied, barely touching the side of her neck, sending shivers across her skin.
Her cheeks heated up and she shook her head. “Please, I don’t have much time.”
“What are you concerned about, angel?” he asked smoothly, kissing her fingers.
“This duel—”
“You know about that?” He dropped her hand.
Men and their silly rules. She didn’t have time for explanations. Sanders would be back any minute. “Please make it just to first blood drawn, my lord.”
He shook his head. “Kelfield made it quite clear he wanted it to the death.”
Blast the duke for being so proud! Cordie frowned at him. “But as seconds, you and my brother set the stipulations.”
“You do realize that neither gentleman would be happy with your interference?”
Probably not. Definitely not. Though she didn’t have time to worry about that at the moment. Either man could die, and it would be a travesty. She stepped closer to the marquess and placed her hand on his chest. “Please.”
His pulse quickened at her touch and he pulled her closer to him. “I suppose I could be convinced to see things your way,” his low voice rumbled across her.
She tipped her head back to see him and began to toy with one of the buttons on his waistcoat. “What would it take, my lord?”
His grin widened. “What are you offering?”
Cordie had bargained with her older brothers most of her life, and she was fairly proficient at it. She smiled coyly. “A kiss.”
Haversham stroked her neck and dipped his head toward hers. She was certain he would kiss her again, but instead he whispered in her ear. “You’ve already kissed me, Cordelia. I want something else.”
“A kiss is all I can offer,” she replied softly, inhaling the heady scent of his citric shaving lotion.
“But you’ll kiss me again. Right now if I wish it, because you enjoy my kiss. That’s not a bargaining chip, my beautiful temptress.”
Cordie sucked in a breath. Were all men so arrogant? “I do enjoy your kiss, but I can go forever without having it again,” she taunted him.
He stared at her, his light blue eyes raking her from top to bottom, warming her skin as he did so. She thought he wouldn’t say anything and then a scratching came at the door. Good heavens, Sanders already! Cordie nearly groaned. “One moment, Sanders.”
Haversham ran his finger along her lower lip. “A kiss, then,” he said and grinned wickedly. “But I choose where.”
“As long as it’s not out in the open for anyone else to see.” After all, she hoped to marry the man, not be publicly ruined by him.
His eyes danced with merriment. “My gorgeous girl, you can rest assured that no one but I will see where I plan to kiss you.”
Where could he possibly plan to take her that was so mysterious? His coach? Vauxhall? Not that she had time to contemplate the situation, as the scratch at the door came again, more insistent this time. “Coming, Sanders.”
Livvie sat in her bed, flipping through the pages of La Belle Assemblée, hoping to get the day’s events off her mind. It was futile, but she didn’t have a choice. Alex had not returned home. Neither had she heard any word from him. It was enough to drive her mad. But she tried to remain calm as Doctor Watts had been very clear about that, and he didn’t want her out of bed until his next visit.
There was a soft knock at her door. “Come,” she said hastily, hoping someone had brought her news.
Caroline stepped inside and smiled at her. “Darling, how are you?”
“Worried sick,” Livvie admitted.
Her cousin sat in a chair at her side. “Men are foolish. They have to get these sorts of things out of their system.”
“Caroline! One of them could be killed. Alex could be killed. Why did he pick Haversham? Why not Carteret or Staveley? Someone who could talk some sense into him?”
“Darling, don’t get yourself worked up. I talked to Doctor Watts myself. I know that he wants you to avoid hysterics.” Then Caroline clasped Livvie’s hand. “I should have thought it was a possibility that you’d conceived when you fainted yesterday. I’m sorry I did not.”
Livvie smiled wistfully. “Lots of things make sense now. I was feeling ill and kept thinking it was all the anxiety from the last few weeks. It never occurred to me that I was with child.”
“It is wonderful news, Olivia,” Caroline gushed.
“Alex doesn’t know.”
Caroline nodded. “It’s better that way for now. The news would only distract him.”
“But what if…” What if he dies? Livvie couldn’t bring herself to utter the words. “Doesn’t he have a right to know?”
Caroline knew what she was asking and she shook her head. “Don’t worry, Olivia. I received a note today from your friend, Cordelia.”
“She sent you a note?”
“She said she would have sent it to you, but she’s cer
tain her correspondence is being monitored. Anyway, that’s not what I’m trying to tell you. Apparently, Miss Avery is quite adept at persuasion. She somehow managed to get both Captain Avery and Haversham to agree the duel will end with the first blood drawn. Unless Alex is very unlucky, he’ll be alive on the morrow. Injured, I could not say. So take that worry off your mind. Focus on your child.”
Livvie took the first calming breath of the very long, awful day. First blood drawn. It was something. She chose not to think about the possibility of infection or how deeply the first thrust of a sword could plunge into a man, especially when his opponent was Philip Moore, a swordsman with excellent skills. First blood drawn. It was better than nothing.
After Caroline left, promising to return in the morning, Livvie tossed her magazine to the floor. Fashion was the last thing on her mind. She lay down on her side, clutching a pillow in her hands, wishing it was her husband. Livvie closed her eyes, praying for all she was worth that Alex would be safe.
Then her bedroom door opened.
“Olivia?” came Poppy’s little voice from the doorway.
Yes, Poppy?” Livvie sat back up. “What is it?”
Her step-daughter swiped at a tear and shuffled towards the bed. “Papa always tells me a bedtime story.”
“Oh. Do you want me to tell you a story?”
Poppy shook her head. “Your stories aren’t as good.”
The honesty of a child. Livvie held in a laugh, the first one of the day. Bless Poppy for giving it to her. “Would you like to tell me one then?”
Poppy climbed up on the bed next to Livvie and rested her raven curls on one of the pillows, her silver eyes sad. “Olivia, can I stay here with you?”
“You mean sleep here?”
Poppy took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be alone. I wish Papa didn’t go away.”
“Me too,” Livvie confided, feeling the bond with her step-daughter strengthen. No one loved Alex like the two of them, and no one would miss him like they would. “You may stay if you’d like, Poppy.”